Growing up my interest in fashion wasn’t exactly encouraged. I had the sort of upbringing where my parents didn’t ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, but rather, what kind of doctor I wanted to be. That being said, it shouldn’t be surprising they found fashion to be a wasteful distraction. Neither of my parents grew up with a lot, although they became successful adults, old habits die hard and they remained hardcore savers. Stylish clothing was obviously not an expense they deemed a necessity and for this reason, I’ve had a job since I was 14 to cover these “extraneous costs.” Prior to the freedom of employment, I was just a 12-year-old girl who desperately wanted a pair of flared jeans. I was in the throes of adolescence, that horrible age where fitting in was crucial and having the “right” clothes seemed life or death. Knowing my parent’s attitude towards materialism, I knew I was going to have to approach this topic delicately.